


Farewell

by Wr1t3myWr0ngs



Series: Remembering Yesterday's Tomorrow (In the Here and Now) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bittersweet, Character Death, Endor, Eventual Romance, F/M, Lothal, Romance, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wr1t3myWr0ngs/pseuds/Wr1t3myWr0ngs
Summary: The first and last farewells of a free Galaxy.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex & Luke Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Leia Organa & CT-7567 | Rex, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Remembering Yesterday's Tomorrow (In the Here and Now) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824871
Comments: 36
Kudos: 150





	1. The First

The war was over. It was hard to believe after all these years. Gazing up at the night sky, drums pounding away in the distance, Rex felt every second of his thirty-six years. There was joy, but it sat tucked away deep in his chest side by side with a weary finality and no small sense of loss.

  
People come and go, drunk on exhilaration or just plain drunk, clapping him on the arm in passing. Some, the more sober, stay for a while. The Princess -not the General, not to Rex. Not when it's all to easy to see a different General in her, taller with a blue saber, spurred on by an inner fire that wouldn't let him quit. The old Clone has his suspicions where the Princess gets that flame, but he keeps quiet on them - stops for a few, breathing deeply in the small bubble of calm that Rex has carved out before plunging back into the role of Rebellion Leader.

  
Luke - undeniably Padmés son - stops for longer, and Rex can smell the wood smoke that clings to the young Jedi. Somehow, he knows for whom the pyre burnt, and reaches out a hand to rest on the young man's shoulder. The two stand, silent, until Luke turns and smiles and makes his way back toward the celebrations.

  
It's late in the night, the forest eerily quiet without the sounds of music, his little fire not yet embers, when she joins him.  
Despite the years, his heart still catches in his chest at the sight of her, more so now that she is grown into the woman he had caught glimpses of in her youth.

  
"Looks like you beat me to the bottom this time."

  
"Sorry to disappoint you, Commander."

  
The joke brings a smile to their faces, and with them, no shortage of memories, good and bad alike. Inevitably drags up the question that a lifetime of being either a soldier or under the constant pressure of the ISBs thumb never allowed him to think about.

  
"What now?"

  
The low light is just enough for Rex to make out the deep frown that crosses Ahsoka's face, doesn't miss how even with the weight of the galaxy off her shoulders she still holds herself ready for a battle.

  
"Ezra." 

  
And Rex understands, sympathizes even with the pull and draw of an incomplete mission, especially rescue - remembers his own need to chase down the last clues regarding Echo. But it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that this woman who has lost and sacrificed so much cannot get more than a moment of rest.

  
"I have to find him."

There are no words he can say that will alleviate either the pain in her voice or her sense of duty, so Rex pulls her into a one-arm embrace and rests the side of his head against her montrals.

  
"I know, kid."

  
She snorts, amused, and Rex counts it as another victory the same way he has scored each of her genuine smiles and laughter since the Empire took over.

  
"I'm not a kid Rex."

  
"Whatever you say, kid."

  
And he does know, first had an inkling when she was Seventeen and he was Thirteen going on Twenty-six and thinking things the Kaminoans never meant for any clone to think. How perhaps friendship and love were more alike than different, if they both meant devotion and trust and speeding hearts when you see them walk in a room. Knew it years later, after he thought that experience had taught him the meaning of a lovesick heart, only to be proven wrong when she walked up, and his heart flipped over itself at the chance to say hello one last time.

  
Knows it now as she leans her weight onto him, her skin glowing in the light of the dying fire.

  
It's impulsive — but he has lived his life for so long relying on equal parts strategy and an indescribable gut feeling to be bothered by impulsive decisions now — turning his head slightly and brushing his lips against her montral in a soft kiss. Still, he knows that he doesn't regret it. Not even when, for a heart-pounding moment she freezes, tense in his arms, before pulling back to look him in the eyes.

  
She smiles at him, glad and remorseful, and Rex understands. Not yet, not now. Not while she still has a mission. So he smiles in return, and pulls her back to him, letting her head rest against his in the silence of the night.

  
Overhead, the stars travel and begin to fade, heralding the first dawn of a free galaxy.

  
"What will you do now?"

  
The old Clone thinks for a moment, and his mind wanders to the memory of a brother who had made a way for himself, away from the war.

  
"Start a farm, maybe—a small place, somewhere in the outer rim."

  
She hums, but otherwise doesn't respond.

  
The fire dies, and only once the sky has turned the dusty grey of pre-dawn does she pull away.

  
For a moment, he thinks that this is where they will say goodbye, but she surprises him ~~but then again, when does she not?~~ and presses a kiss of her own to his forehead. His eyes close and his heart swells in a way that lately has been reserved only for her, and he can feel the ghost of her breath on his skin as she whispers her farewell.


	2. The last

It's a year before he sees her again.

The farm grows slowly, but as Lothal recovers and the Galaxy needs less and less resistance help to remove the remaining Imperial presence, Rex is able to spend more time with his hands in the soil.

He's planting Biituian Orange trees (they won't produce fruit for another three years, and the thought that he may never see their first harvest is not lost on him) when he hears a shuttle land by the house.

Wiping sweat from his brow and dust from his hands, Rex stands and makes his way over to greet his visitor.

Despite the cloak and their back being to him, Rex's heart jumps at the sight of Montrals beneath the grey fabric. When she turns, he can't help the smile that stretches across his face.

She smiles back, in a way he can't remember her doing since she was still a padawan: open and joyous and carefree.

One day becomes two, becomes a week, becomes a year.

She stays in fits and bursts, at first in the spare room, her things packed away neatly, ready to be collected at a moments notice, the job of a Jedi never truly done. Over time they spread out; a toothbrush in the bathroom, her preferred blend of caf in the cupboards, until it eventually becomes her sabers next to his ~~their~~ bed, her armor by the bedroom door, his head tucked under her chin as they lay together beneath light sheets in the heat of a summer night.

It's not perfect; she has her duties; he has his. They argue and they fight, learn each others edges and curves in this new domestic world, learn to fit together as Rex and Ahsoka, not Captain and Commander.

On days when she doesn't have to go, when the fledgling Jedi order does not demand the assistance of their greatest Knight, she is in the fields beside him—directing the hired hands as needed, entertaining curious younglings that come to see for themselves two legends of the rebellion, dirt-stained and beautiful.

When she must go, her ships leave early in the morning, and despite the protest of his knees in the cold air Rex is always there to see her off. Leans in to press a kiss to her dark lips, his beard brushing her face, feeling her smile at the sensation. Watches as she climbs the ramp, her grey cloak swishing about her ankles, and stays there until her ship is nothing more than a speck in the sky.

The days (weeks, sometimes the occasional month) that she is gone pass in a regular fashion, filled with the farm, friends, and sometimes a mission of his own. It would be a lie to say that he does not count them, does not miss her warmth in bed, or her half-awake shuffling to the caf maker in the mornings.

She's been gone for three days, and the sun beats down on the clone's neck as he winds his way through the open market, passing stalls of fruit and parts and various other things, having purchased his necessities and now just wandering, letting the idle chattering of the crowd wash over him.

From the corner of his eye, Rex spots the glinting of metal, and he finds himself standing in front of a jewelers stall, looking over a selection of bands and rings, occasionally dotted with a brightly colored stone.

The stall owner chatters away as he looks over the assemblage, more curiosity than actual interest when one set towards the back catches his attention. Brushed steel shines in the the afternoon sun, faint scratches and grooves that catch the light and remind the clone of worn lightsaber handles, utilitarian and elegant. Of course, the ring fits, and in the depths of his mind, he hears General Kenobi mutter about the force working in mysterious ways. The stall owner mistakes the smile on his face for joy at having found the perfect gift; Rex doesn't correct him and tucks the small box into his jacket.

His speeder bike hums as it flys over the grassy fields around his home, not an overly long ride, but long enough that by the time he sees the ranch in the distance, the sky is beginning to darken. When he arrives, the lights are on, and as he dismounts the bike he throws the bag over his shoulder while his other hand reaches for his hip, fingers brushing over where his service weapon used to sit out of pure habit, before the aroma of cooking stew reaches him and he relaxes.

Sure enough, standing in the kitchen, stripped down to her leggings and undershirt, humming along to the radio while mindfully watching over a simmering pot, is Ahsoka.

He takes a moment to lean against the doorway and drink in the sight of her, from the movement of her hips as she lightly dances to the sway of her rear head-tail. The music changes, and so do her movements, in time with the now slow staccato beat. Its when he catches her grin over her shoulder that he knows he's been caught in his silent watching, suspects that she knew the whole time.

Walking past the table, Rex sets down the bag, hardly pausing before he's behind her, hands on her hips and chin hooked over her shoulder.

"You're back early."

She leans back into his chest, and he can feel her smile where their faces touch.

"Surprised?"

He hums in response, and kisses her on the cheek.

"Its a good surprise, though."

They stand there for a few minutes, the music softly playing in the background as the aroma of stew fills the air. Rex eventually lets go and pulls off his jacket and begins setting the table.

The food, as always when Ahsoka cooks, is delicious — but Rex knows he could be eating rations in the rain, and it would still be the best meal he has had as long as he's sharing it with her. The conversation flows, and they swap stories of what their time apart held, why her assignment to Mon Cala was cut short, how the new farmhand is working out, no detail too small to be not of interest.

When the two are done, he clears the table, puts away the leftovers, and is halfway through washing up when he hears a soft gasp behind him.

He dries his hands and turns, only to be caught motionless at the wide-eyed and open-mouthed (wondrous his mind supplies) look on Ahsoka's face as she stares down at the Togrutan wedding bands in her hands, his jacket a heap on the floor.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she looks up at him.

His heart thunders in his chest, and suddenly he doesn't feel Thirty-Seven/Seventy-Four, doesn't feel like an old grizzled war veteran, forgets for a moment that he's a clone that outlived the purpose he was bred for.

In that moment he's Rex, just a man, feeling like a shiny standing for his first inspection, confident and nervous all at once.

It's her voice that sets time back in motion, (and it's fitting that it's his name from her lips that calls him back, knows he would follow ~~has followed~~ that call across the galaxy so long as it's her calling).

He finds his feet and walks over to her, answering that call, cups her hands in his holding onto the box together. And he couldn't stop this hope that has bloomed in his chest if he wanted to, the kind of hope that hurts for how full it makes you feel (he doesn't want to, made a choice a long time ago on a barren, frozen planet, to hope in Ahsoka Tano, and twenty-odd years haven't changed that).

She launches herself at him, all twelve inches of space gone in a moment, wraps her arms around his neck. And he laughs, lifts her off her feet and spins around, her shouts of "Yes! Yes! Yes!" the sweetest benediction he had ever known.

And he knows that she cannot stay, would never ask that of her, but the knowledge that she always returns, that it is him and his side that she has chosen to call her home is all the sweeter for it.

In the end, he's the one to leave. 

Two years later, three years after the fall of Endor, with the scent of Biituian blossoms that will bear no fruit hanging in the air, he knows his time is up. He had hoped for longer, but it was a faint thing, knows the ins and outs of Kaminoan cloning too well to have truly fooled himself. Even if he didn't, he can feel it in his bones, almost a voice in the back of his head that beckons him to rest.

Of course he tells her, does not want this to be one more thing that the Galaxy pulls on her without warning. But from the way her hands grip his over the table, the sadness (but not surprise) that fills her eyes, he suspects that she already knew. Her grip tightens, and sunlight glints off the ring on his finger, matching the shine from the steel bangle secured on her right head-tail. 

And he is sorry, so very sorry that he has to march ahead of her. But he is relieved, too. After so long wondering when and how and who would be his death (In battle? Friendly fire? An Imp, or a brother?), to finally know is as freeing as it is horrible.

They do not work in the fields that day, leaving the running of the farm to others, instead spending the day with each other, holding, talking, memorizing.

He can see her mask of composure cracking, so he pulls her close, trying to offer what comfort he can before he can't, not sure if he's making it better or worse, uncaring of the dampness that has collected in his shirt from her tears (more then aware of his own as they slip down his cheeks and into his beard).

He makes her a cup of tea, and hands it to her. Asks if she want to stay, (not _to_ stay — never that, not even for this, no matter how much he doesn't want to be alone), because he understands if she doesn't, and even with puffy eyes, red from crying, she fixes him with a look. It calls him crazy, a idiot — her idiot, and even to the end his heart flips over itself at the thought — and she tells him as much.

Night falls and they settle into the couch, his head resting lightly on her shoulder, a blanket spread over the two of them keeping away the chill. Perhaps its childish, the way that he fights off sleep, despite having spent a day, months, years preparing. Beside him, he can tell Ahsoka is still awake, knows that she will sit a vigil all night, and it is that knowledge more then anything that lets him slip his eyes shut.

As the darkness pulls him in, he swears he can feel the ghost of her breath on his skin as she whispers her farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil, I'm sorry.  
> Side note, I wrote this chapter on my phone and if there are any mistakes please let me know.  
> 


	3. Sneak Peek at Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually felt really bad about leaving the story where I did, so have a sneak peek at what's in store for the next section!

_Its the feel of the planet, the taste of the air, burned into his memory in a way that few things are._

_He knows beyond any measure of doubt where he is, when he is: it's the start of what would lead to the worst day of his life. Worse even, then finding out the news that Ahsoka had fallen to the hands of Vader._

_Umbara._

_But that's not right. It_ can't _be right. Confusion swirls round in his mind, the memory of her smile crisp and clear and impossible. Not if he's right (_ _ ~~he wishes he wasn't, but every sense is screaming that he's back, and after years of surviving on his intuition he trusts it~~ )._

_His arms around her._

_Impossible._

_The sight of her markings, stretched and grown, as they stand before a dying fire at the end of the war._

_Impossible._

_Unless..._

_And his mind —the part that wants to believe, to hope— catches on to the flaw in this pattern of denial. If it was a dream, how could he know about this place? If it was a dream, how could he know about Krel, Dogma, the treachery?_

_Impossible._

_He scrubs a hand down his face, jarred by the lack of a beard, familiar and foreign all at once, and the feel of cool metal scraping his skin._

_He pulls his hands away to look at them and for the third time that morning his heart catches in it's chest because it's there. Solid and silver, and very very real._


End file.
